


Core

by picturestoproveit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But sexy ones, Cunnilingus, Even Sherlock's Mind Palace Friends Know What an Idiot He Is, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation, New Year's Resolutions, Poorly Timed Erections, Rimming, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Vaginal Sex, misuse of yoga equipment, ridiculous dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 12:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3133727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picturestoproveit/pseuds/picturestoproveit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly's REAL New Year's resolution? To drive Sherlock to distraction. Obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Core

**Author's Note:**

> In the midst of agonizing over my multiple WIPs, this silly, ridiculous story came to me. Happy (belated) New Year, everyone!

Of all people, the _last_ person Sherlock Holmes expected to engage in such a blatant act of sabotage was Molly Hooper.

Contrary to popular belief, he did not suffer from delusions of grandeur. He was well aware that he had lost Molly Hooper’s respect months ago, first by plunging a needle into his vein, and secondly by murdering an unarmed man in front of the British government. He truly held no expectation that Molly would ever trust or respect him as a friend again.

So he was more than relieved when he found he could still count on her as a colleague. Molly may not respect _him, per se,_ but he knew she respected The Work. That was one of her greatest strengths, one of the things Sherlock admired most about the specialist registrar: her ability to put aside personal feelings and emotions, to focus on the task at hand. Much like himself, Molly was a perfectionist who took pride in her work, and although he had destroyed their personal relationship beyond repair, he took solace in the fact that their working relationship had remained intact, much thanks to Molly Hooper’s maturity and professionalism.

That is, until he entered the lab at roughly nine o’clock in the morning to discover that perhaps Molly _wasn’t_ above the base and petty need to exact revenge.

“Good morning, Molly,” Sherlock said as he pushed through the double doors, noting the white lab coat and honey-coloured ponytail from the corner of his eye. He shrugged out of his Belstaff and draped it over the stool beside his favorite microscope. He turned toward the lab bench, where Molly was currently seated. “Do you have the samples from the …” he began to ask, trailing off in confusion as he took in the sight before him.

There was Molly, located in her usual spot at her favorite lab bench, flipping through a file. But where Sherlock had naturally expected to see her perched on one of the many metal stools located at the workspace, she was instead seated on a large, inflatable sphere.

Molly Hooper, sitting on a gigantic red ball, legs spread wide for balance, and bouncing softly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be doing in the middle of the most prestigious pathology lab in all of Great Britain.

“From the Morris case?” she finished for him, not bothering to look up from her paperwork. “The blood samples are just finishing up in the centrifuge. The saliva and semen slides are still in cryo.”

“What…what are you doing?” he asked, brows furrowed, staring at the petite pathologist, his mouth becoming slightly (and quite inexplicably) dry as he took note of her spread legs, her thighs clenching tightly against the sides of the ball as she continued to lightly bounce up and down.

“Reviewing the newest registrar’s latest autopsy report,” she murmured, squinting at the file. She rolled her eyes in disgust, unconsciously changing her pelvic motion to match, her hips rolling in tiny circles. “Jesus, he didn’t even weigh the brain properly,“ she complained. “How can you determine the cause of death was diffuse cerebral atrophy when the bloody _scale_ wasn’t even zeroed?”

Sherlock stared at her hips as they rolled back and forth, when suddenly, a wholly unsolicited image of Molly dragging the dampened crotch of her panties against his lap, rocking her pelvis against his cock, sprung to mind. “No!“ he snapped, his voice much sharper than he had intended.

Molly looked up at him in surprise, caught off guard by the harshness of his tone. Sherlock cleared his throat. “I meant…what is that you’re sitting on?” he tried again, aiming for a casualness sounded only _slightly_ out of character. He mentally congratulated himself on his quick save as he sidled up to his microscope.

“Oh! Yeah. Sorry,” Molly replied with a small smile. “It’s a stability ball. My yoga instructor recommended that I switch out my usual chair and use the ball instead,” she explained, punctuating each word with a small bounce. “It’s my New Year’s resolution to work on my core muscles a little more. My lower back is always stiff from bending over the autopsy table, and after all the chocolate tarts I ate over holiday, my tummy could use a bit of trimming –“

“Yes, fascinating,” Sherlock cut her off, deliberately forcing the image of Molly Hooper’s _tummy_ out of his brain. _(“I bet it’s quite flat, actually," Lestrade said with a lecherous grin, arms crossed, leaning against the very corner of Sherlock’s Mind Palace. "Tiny frame, plus that perfect English Rose complexion? Wouldn’t mind seeing how far down that blush goes, you know?”)_

“ _Shut up,”_ Sherlock hissed aloud, pulling his collar away from his throat. The last thing he needed at that moment was George Bloody Lestrade and his chauvinistic, objectifying commentary on Molly Hooper’s perfect, smooth, ( _delightfully creamy_ ) skin.

Molly glared at him. “Well, _excuse me_. Some of us actually _care_ about our health,” she snapped, clearly assuming his outburst was aimed at her. She huffed, returning her attention to the autopsy reports. “You asked a question, forgive me for supplying an answer,“ she grumbled, snapping her papers in agitation.

 _“Apologize, you idiot,” Mary sighed, her hands kneading and pulling at the sticky bread dough on the counter, a soft morning light filtering through the Watson’s kitchen window and highlighting the flour and yeast smeared across her taut, pregnant abdomen.“It’s a miracle she’s even speaking to you, let alone allowing you into her lab_. _Don’t let your sexual frustration drive her even further away.”_

_“I am NOT sexually frustrated,” Sherlock snapped, this time having enough sense to contain his answer to the boundaries of his Mind Palace._

_“Sherlock, we talked about the fibbing,” Mary replied, fixing him with a pointed stare. “And while we’re on the topic of sexual frustration, you really need to be more discreet when you’re staring at my nipples. Eventually, John’s going to catch you peeking.”_

“Sherlock…are you feeling all right? Your face is all red and flushed.” Molly’s voice broke in suddenly. Sherlock whirled on his stool.“Yes, Molly, I’m feeling fine, I just haven’t eaten anything in a few days, that’s all, and plus, it’s like a _bloody furnace_ in here today, have you considered contacting the engineering department? Their inability to maintain a temperate climate is going to seriously compromise the integrity of these samples,” he rattled out in a rush, pausing briefly to take a small breath. “I am sorry I was rude about your New Year’s resolution. Forgive me.”

Molly regarded him curiously. “Apology accepted,” she said slowly, her expression bemused. “Also, it’s, um, nineteen degrees in here…like always…but I’ll have maintenance take a look at the duct work if it would make you feel better.”

Sherlock nodded, absently swiping at his dampened forehead with his hand. “Yes, that would be prudent of you, Molly. Thank you,” he said.

 _“Blaming the duct work. Smooth. Subtle,” John remarked from behind his newspaper. He sank back into his plaid armchair, uncrossing and re-crossing his legs. “Much better than admitting you were thinking about her bouncing on YOUR_ _balls “_

_“Oh, brilliant pun, John,” Sherlock snapped. “Perhaps you should have saved that one for your blog!”_

_“Who says I can’t still use it?” John mused, casually flipping the page. “It will work nicely, right above the paragraph where I detail your fascination with my pregnant wife’s areolas.”_

Sherlock stood abruptly, the scraping of the metal stool against tile echoing loudly, causing Molly to start. She tipped to the side, briefly wobbling on the ball before righting herself, both hands gripping the edge of the counter. As she regained her balance, her jumper rode up slightly, revealing the scantest hint of lace peeking up from the waistband of her work trousers.

“The slides, you said they were in the cryo cabinet, correct?” Sherlock asked, a bit too loudly.

“Yes…Sherlock, are you sure you’re okay?” Molly asked, her voice equal parts concern and exasperation.

“Yes, Molly, _I am fine,”_ Sherlock replied through gritted teeth. “I told you, I’m just…tired.”

“No. You said you were hungry. And hot.”

“Well, I’m tired, too. Just…stop concerning yourself with me. I. AM. FINE,” Sherlock growled, stalking across the lab to the specimen cabinet in the corner. He flung the aluminum door open, quickly scanning the labeled samples and plucking the specimens he needed to complete his task.

_“You’re acting like she’s trying to distract you on purpose,” Irene remarked slyly from her perch behind the cabinet._

_“Isn’t she?” Sherlock responded, glaring at The Woman’s nude form. “Put some clothes on, for God’s sake. This is a pathology lab. It’s not…sanitary.”_

_“Oh, please, Mr. Holmes. Do get over yourself,” Irene sighed. “I’m inside YOUR head. You’re free to dress me up however you wish.”_

_“I have a case to solve. I don’t have time for your antics, or for HERS, for that matter,” Sherlock growled._

_Irene, her feminine curves now wrapped in Sherlock’s Belstaff, tipped her head back and released a throaty laugh. “You think you’re special, but you’re just like every other man I’ve ever met, “she said, arching one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Mr. Holmes, “she purred, reaching out to delicately trace his jawline with the tip of her blood-red fingernail. “The women and men of this world are not conspiring with your erections to ruin you.”_

_“Oh, and you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” he sneered. “It’s not about my…erections. It’s about purposeful disruption. Molly is CLEARLY trying to distract me from my work with this “stability ball” ruse, which is petty and childish. Obviously, she feels I haven’t suffered enough punishment for my sins, so she is attempting to weaponize this…this BLATANT sexual innuendo in an effort to discredit my genius. FURTHERMORE, I don’t even have an erection at the moment, so your previous assertion is absurd. “_

_Irene laughed again. “Are you really THAT_ _oblivious to your own urges?” she asked, thoroughly amused._

Sherlock looked down at his trousers.

 _Oh_.

“Molly, you’re right. I’m not feeling well. Must be the flu, or maybe Ebola. The, ah, the Ebola Flu, “Sherlock said abruptly, shoving the samples back into the cabinet and loudly slamming the door. He heard Molly gasp as she lost her balance again. The lack of a solid _thud_ told him that she hadn’t fallen to the floor, a fact that relieved him greatly, if only because the last thing he wanted to do was help her up while trying to contain a massive erection.

Sherlock shuffled sideways toward his coat, careful to hide his tented trousers from Molly’s line of sight. “If you could finish the DNA screen on the slides, and text me the results, I’d appreciate it,” he rushed, sliding his Belstaff over his shoulders and heading toward the exit in one hasty motion.

“Sherlock, wait – “ Molly called out as he pushed opened the double doors.

“Just text me the results. Good day, Dr. Hooper,” Sherlock called back, hurrying down the corridor, desperately looking forward to the cold shower that awaited him at Baker Street.

* * *

By the time Sherlock had climbed the creaking staircase to 221B, his trouser… _situation_ …had all but resolved. A highly focused recitation of covalent bond theory (coupled with the long-ago memory of his mother’s revelation that Mycroft was conceived in the front seat of a 1968 Vauxhall Vector) had given him _more_ than enough material to quell his desires during the short cab ride back to Baker Street.

He sighed in relief as he removed his coat, sinking down into his favorite chair and smugly noting that his genitalia had returned to its natural, flaccid state. It was comforting to realize that Molly Hooper’s _ridiculous_ attempt at sabotage had no lingering effects on his transport once he was safely within the confines of his own domain.

He reached over to side table, eager to finish the British Journal of Cardiology’s superior research article on the decomposition rate of acetylcholine in bovine myocardial tissue…only to find the table barren of all reading material.

Sherlock sighed in irritation. Mrs. Hudson clearly had been on a cleaning spree again.

_“Nope. You brought it into your room last night, remember? It’s on your nightstand,” Molly said with a grin._

Sherlock closed his eyes and groaned.

_Molly spread her legs wider, planting her bare feet squarely on the carpet of 221B as she began bouncing up and down on that blasted red ball with indecent exhuberance.“You’ve had a hard day, Sherlock,” she murmured sweetly. She trailed her fingertips up her bare thighs until her hands were resting against the lace crotch of her knickers. “Why don’t you go lie down on your bed?” She slid her fingers to the base of that hideous floral jumper and began unfastening the buttons, one by one._

“NO,” Sherlock spat loudly, his voice echoing through the cluttered apartment. He gritted his teeth, squirming in his seat as his cock gave a telltale twitch.

_“Oh, Sherlock, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Molly purred, her cardigan completely unbuttoned now, hanging open and revealing her creamy abdomen, not to mention her lack of a bra. She moved her hips forward and backward, rolling the yoga ball against the floor. The soft breeze created by her movements caused her cardigan to flutter in a tantalizing manner, showcasing the soft under curve of her breasts with each hypnotic rock of her hips. “No one will ever know. It’s okay to give in to your urges every once in awhile,” she continued, smiling slyly. “It’s completely healthy.” With that, she drew her jumper down her shoulders, revealing her pert tits and pebbled nipples. She widened her grin as she drew her hands upward to her rosy peaks and began pinching and rolling her nipples between her fingertips. “After all, it’s my New Year resolution to be so, so healthy,” she sighed, dropping her head back and moaning softly. “Don’t you want to be healthy too, Sherlock?”_

“Oh, for the love of GOD,” Sherlock snarled, leaping from his chair. He stomped toward his bedroom, his penis at a near ninety degree angle and leading the way. “I’ve heard better dialogue in the _worst_ of pornographic films!” He swung the door open with force and flopped down onto his bed with a huff.

_“Well then, why don’t you create some better dialogue for me? It’s not my fault you’re challenged in the erotica department,” Molly mused from her perch on the blasted red ball, placed squarely next to Sherlock’s bed. She was now completely naked, save for a pair of black-framed glasses. Her breasts were mostly covered by the cardiology journal she was casually flipping through, and her legs were crossed demurely, hiding her most private of parts. “Did you know the decomposition rate of acetylcholine in a cow’s heart is nearly double that of humans?” she asked, rocking back on the ball, perfectly balancing her lithe figure with one foot on the floor._

“Yes, I did,” Sherlock snapped, flopping onto his back and angrily working his flies open. “And if you would stop distracting me, I would also know exactly how to apply it to the Morris case!”

_“Sherlock, why don’t you just admit what’s really making you angry?” Molly replied, tossing the journal to the ground. She took off her glasses and leaned forward, pinning him with a fierce gaze. “You aren’t mad that you feel the urge to masturbate to images of me because it’s distracting you from your work. You’re mad because you think you’ve ruined your chances to have the real thing.”_

Sherlock had already worked his cock halfway out of his pants when he stopped. “Well, _of course_ I’ve ruined my chance to have the real thing,” he said, brow furrowed. “That’s the only thing I know for certain. She’ll never trust me again. And correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t…relationships built on that sort of thing?”

_Molly smiled. “That’s if you see a relationship as a house,” she replied. She leaned back slightly, her long hair swinging softly around her breasts. “If we’re going to throw around overused clichés regarding love, I much prefer to think of is as a river,” she continued. “Relationships are flowing, turbulent, calm, and ever-changing. Sometimes they get a little rocky, sometimes they have their lazy bends, sometimes they go crashing over a bloody cliff. They are beautiful and dangerous and peaceful and muddy all at once. And sometimes, the only thing you need to trust is that you can always swim to safety, be it with the person you jumped in with, or just on your own. “_

Sherlock exhaled, his breath shaky. “So…what do I do?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

_Molly gazed at him. “Ask her to jump,” she answered simply. She smiled. “And stop acting so goddamned awkward around her. She’s forgiven you, you twit. You’re just too steeped in self-pity to realize it.” She uncrossed her legs suddenly, spreading her knees wide and planting her feet on either side of the stability ball. “Now, are we going to do this, or not?” she asked, her voice at once breathy and impatient._

Sherlock reached back into his pants hastily, fully releasing his erection into his palm. “Yes, yes we are,” he croaked, gazing at the damp auburn curls above her glistening pink folds.

_“Good,” she cooed, reaching down to slowly drag a finger through her slit. “Because I am so wet. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my cunt balanced on this ball. I may just slide off.”_

“That’s rather crude, Molly,” Sherlock admonished, his cock hardening painfully as the words left his mouth.

_“Yes, and you liked it,” she purred. She continued to tease herself with the fingers of one hand as she beckoned to him with the other. “Perhaps you should come and feel for yourself.”_

Sherlock closed his eyes and began working his shaft in smooth strokes. “Yes…perhaps I should,” he gasped out loud.

_Molly grinned and stood suddenly. “You want nothing more than to bend me over this ball,” she said, her sweet voice suddenly much huskier. “You’ve been thinking about it since you first saw me in the lab this morning. If you could have, you would have taken me right there. Anyone could have walked in and caught you driving your cock into my tight pussy, over and over again.”_

Sherlock’s motions sped up slightly. “God, yes,” he moaned, precum leaking down his foreskin as he continued to stroke himself.

_Molly turned, her back toward the bed, and carefully draped herself over the red ball, her smooth belly pressing against the soft rubber. She hugged her arms around the top of the inflatable sphere and rolled forward slowly until her arse was perfectly displayed. “You said you hadn’t eaten in days,” she murmured, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Is it because you were saving your appetite for my sweet cunt?”_

“Yes,” Sherlock hissed, squeezing his shaft tightly at the base to prevent him from coming right then and there. If he was going to give into his fantasies, he was going to do it all the way.

_“That’s right,” Molly moaned, wiggling her arse enticingly. “You don’t want to come yet. Not before you’ve tasted what you’ve been starving for.”_

Sherlock took a deep, gulping breath as he imagined himself crawling off the bed and kneeling behind Molly in the very center of his Mind Palace.

_Molly spread her legs, squeezing the sides of the ball with her knees and spreading her soaking folds wide open. Sherlock reached out and gripped her hips tightly, reveling in the feel of her soft skin against his callused fingertips._

_“I want to feel your mouth on my core,” she moaned, pushing back against his grip slightly. “I want that wicked tongue on every inch of me.”_

_Sherlock obliged, finally diving forward to drag his tongue across her cunt, using his lips and teeth to gently nip and suck at her slick, pink flesh._

_Molly shuddered and moaned, pressing her pelvis deeply against the stability ball. “Oh, god, yes, Sherlock,” she gasped, as he slid one finger between her clit and the inflatable rubber. “Eat my arse,” she cried, rocking against his hand. Sherlock was more than happy to obey, working his mouth up to the puckered flesh of her tightest hole, swirling his tongue around the taut ring as he slid two fingers into her pussy._

_She came with a hoarse cry, her cunt pulsing around his curled fingers. He continued to lick and nip her arsehole as she shuddered, reveling in the gush of fluid that squirted from her cunt and dripped down his wrist._

_“Fuck me,” Molly gasped, rolling all the way forward to place her hands flat on the floor. “Grab my legs,” she instructed, though Sherlock needed no more direction. He rose up on his knees and gripped her calves tightly, and ensuring that she was maintaining adequate balance, plunged his cock deep inside of her still-pulsating quim._

_Molly used her hands to push herself back against his pumping hips, though he only managed a few thrusts before he was spilling his hot seed inside of her, coming hard with a strangled groan._

Sherlock blinked rapidly as his breathing and heart rate slowly returned to baseline. His hand and shirt were covered with his sticky release. He groaned again as he realized he had failed to remove his shirt before engaging in his pleasure.

_“That shirt will never be the same again, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Hudson clucked from behind her ironing board. “All the fabric softener in the world won’t make that cotton crease like it should.”_

Sherlock hastily tucked his penis back into his trousers. “ _Get out, Mrs. Hudson,”_ Sherlock hissed, his face turning red.

_“Oh, don’t be such a Puritan, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said. “How do you think I know so much about removing semen stains from clothing in the first place?”_

_“MRS. HUDSON!” Sherlock bellowed internally, ordering his landlady out of his head once and for all._

Sherlock sighed and flopped back onto his pillow. He felt a small vibration at his waist, and quickly reached into his pocket to retrieve his mobile. He glanced at the screen with a small smile. Molly Hooper, as usual, had impeccable timing.

_The DNA samples came back. The blood and saliva are definitely from a female. The semen is from a sterilized male – Molly_

Sherlock grinned and quickly typed his response. _Excellent. I’ll inform Grant to arrest the butcher AND his wife - SH_

_His name is Greg, Sherlock. - Molly_

_Yes. I am aware. I just can’t let him know that I am aware. Not good for the image – SH_

_Yes. Image is everything, isn’t it? – Molly_

Sherlock paused for a moment, considering his response. ( “ _Ask her to jump,” Molly whispered, curling her nude form against his side, snuggling her head into his chest.)_

_Yes…I’ve been thinking about cultivating a healthier image, actually. Perhaps I’ll join you at your next yoga class? – SH_

Sherlock held his breath, his heart pounding furiously as he awaited her response.

_...you want to do yoga with me?? – Molly_

_Yes. I think I’d like to try and form some new habits, if you’re interested in helping me, that is. – SH_

Sherlock smiled in relief as Molly’s reply came through immediately.

_Of course I’ll help you, Sherlock. Anything to keep you healthy – Molly_

He was just about to rest his phone on his bedside table when another text alert came through. He glanced at the screen, and was infinitely grateful that there was no one around to witness the crimson blush that erupted in his cheeks as he read Molly’s message:

_Just try to, ahem, control yourself during class. It’s much harder to hide an erection in front of twenty people than it is in a pathology lab – Molly XXX_

_…noted. – SH_

_I’ll be over in an hour, by the way. To show you some of the more basic moves. If you know what I mean_ _\- Molly xxx_

Sherlock couldn’t help but laugh. If he even had an inkling that Mousy Molly Hooper was still lurking behind those whiskey –toned eyes, it was all but obliterated now.

_Yes, I believe I do know what you mean - SH_

_Oh, and Molly? Bring that ridiculous red ball. It could be...useful. -SH_


End file.
